


Putting The Pieces Back

by rainconfettis



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, they're talking through trauma, those three weeks post-159 got me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-17 23:14:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21501376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainconfettis/pseuds/rainconfettis
Summary: Jonathan Sims doesn't know everything about Martin Blackwood, but he wants to.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 18
Kudos: 284





	Putting The Pieces Back

Jon wants to learn everything about Martin, but he settles for what he can get. He settles for the quiet humming while making a cup of tea, the soft, breathless laugh that comes out when their eyes meet, and the feeling of arms around him at night, clinging a little too tightly to be normal, but it speaks volumes after everything they experienced together. The little, forgettable tasks in a normal day become the foundation of something more. It is, quite frankly,  _ incredible _ . The Archivist lives a life of isolated observation, but Jonathan Sims lives to see the exasperated eye roll that Martin gives him before putting on a rom-com, ignoring his protests in favor of documentaries.

There are problems, though. They should have noticed them sooner, but they both got too caught up in the novelty of what they have-- a line between relationship and something entirely new-- and maybe that staved off the outcome of The Forsaken’s realm. It starts to seep in slowly, though. Little things that seem normal, at first. Martin leaves the doors open in every room. He runs the radio, or the TV or his phone’s various apps. Sometimes Jon goes catatonic for hours, staring at the wall, the ceiling, or the floor for long intervals if Martin isn’t there to stop him. He presses close to Martin whenever he's near, and Martin to him, as if reminding each other that they exist. 

Some nights, long after they had given up on space and now share the bed, Jon wakes up screaming and Martin runs his hands through his hair and coaxes him back to sleep. Occasionally, Martin’s skin runs so cold that it wakes Jon up and makes him cling tighter, willing warmth back into him. They never talk about it, but they work around it. The weighted blanket that comes in the mail replaces their duvet and they hold each other tight through every nasty nightmare and panic attack. Jon buys a bluetooth speaker for every room. Martin sets alarms for every hour. They take walks together, to remind themselves that the world moves onward.

It isn’t until Jon comes in after a solitary walk and finds Martin on the kitchen floor, almost as monochrome as he looked in The Lonely, that he realizes they  _ need  _ to talk. He drops to his knees and collects Martin in his arms, pulling his head into his lap. He begins to whisper and coo, and tries desperately to push down his panic and focus on  _ making Martin feel _ again. It takes a heart-stopping amount of time and Jon is reduced to barely audible “I love you”s before the body underneath him shakes and shudders back to reality.

“Jon?” His name comes out far too broken for comfort and Jon’s only response is to pepper his face with kisses. A contented hum turns into soft laughter when Jon’s stubble scratches against Martin’s neck. Jon catalogues that spot as ticklish and presses one lingering kiss to Martin’s lips before pulling back.

“What happened?" He whispers, face still close enough to feel Martin exhale.

Martin does exhale, a shuddering breath that makes his eyelids flutter. "I don't- It felt like I was back in the Lonely. You weren't here and- and-" he curls into Jon and his voice grows ever quieter, "I thought I was lost again."

_ Oh Martin _ , Jon thinks and presses another kiss to his face. "I'm here. What do you need from me?" Moving isn't an option with how pale his skin looks and the trembling that Jon recognizes from his own panic attacks. They can stay on the floor like this forever, though, if it means they're together.

"Let me see you. Talk to me."

They sit for a long time. Jon doesn't keep track. He talks, no filter, about anything that comes to mind. Extensive and unnecessary details about his walk, his run-in with the two doting old ladies who always try to sneak them covered dishes when they buy groceries, and even the pregnant cow that they placed bets on when the calf is coming. He mentions a sweater he saw that reminds him of Christmas fours years ago when Tim got drunk and dumped his drink on some artefact storage guy.

"Francis." Martin mutters and it startles Jon in the middle of his sentence.

"What?"

"The guy with the ruined sweater. Francis. Nice, but a bit of an info-dumper."

That makes Jon laugh, because of course Martin would know this random person. Jon never kept up with names and faces, but Martin always knew. He use to find that annoying, but it helps them when the other villagers are charmed by 'that nice man and his quiet boyfriend'.

Martin looks better now. The color returned to his face while Jon rambled, and now he sits up somewhat independently, though he chooses to stay close to Jon. He ignores the thumping in his chest and counts the freckles on his boyfriend's face. Everything is okay. Except really, it's not.

"We need to talk about this. All of it."

Martin shifts to recline against the cabinets instead of halfway on a lap. His hair is a mess, his hands still shake where they rest in his lap, and his favorite sweater looks a little worse for wear, but Jon thinks he's beautiful. Especially when he smiles softly in agreement and leans his head back in a tired way. "Alright."

He doesn't say anything else, so Jon takes the invitation to talk. "We're obviously not fine. We're safe, no one's come looking and I would Know if someone were here." He uncurls his legs and stretches them out. His foot fell asleep and tingles when it brushes against Martin's calf. "But there's still some trauma we haven't… discussed. It's not doing us any good to leave it unspoken, so let's speak." He takes a moment to carefully construct his words. No compulsion. "What, in particular, set you off?"

Jon watches Martin worry his lip as he thinks. The habit is familiar now, but he can't help but notice how young it makes Martin look every time. Surely, anything he does when he's not being weighed down by monsters and rituals makes him look younger, but adjusting to normalcy makes it more prominent. Prominent, like the grey streaks and permanent furrow of Jon's brow. Jon looks so much older, but really, they've been through nearly everything together.

He realizes he's been staring when Martin softly clears his throat. “My phone disconnected from the speakers. I didn’t realize it because I was--” He gestures toward the countertop, where a kettle sat on the stove. The stove is still on. “--making tea. Lost in my thoughts, I guess. Then I started thinking about how quiet it got, and that you were-- you were never coming back and I-- I was all alone again, just like before. I-It scared me.” He shivers and Jon instantly reaches his hand out to place on the nearest body part, his ankle.

“I’m here. I won’t ever leave you.” He says softly, trying for a smile but probably hitting a pitiful upturn.

“I  _ know  _ that, really, but it’s harder to remember when you aren’t here with me.”

“Then we’ll just have to stay together.”

Martin snorts, and it makes Jon’s heart soar, even if he’s not quite smiling. “We can’t always be together. Sooner or later one of us will have to do something without the other.”

Jon shakes his head and pulls himself closer, until their legs are so tangled they can’t tell which limbs belong to whom. He looks into Martin’s eyes and says “I promise you that as long as it is in my power, I will be where you can see me at all times.”

The soft, choked sound that comes out of his mouth worries Jon for a split-second, until Martin launches himself forward those few inches and wraps Jon up in a hug. It’s awkward, from the angle of their bodies and the tangle of their legs, but Jon doesn’t think about that when dry, cracked lips press against his jawline on their way to his lips. He accepts them eagerly and they sit there for far longer than they need to.

The conversation resumes when they’re comfortably tucked in bed. Martin sleeps on his back to avoid the feeling of being dragged back into the Lonely and Jon sleeps pressed as tight against the other as possible, eyes screwed shut. Sometimes he wakes up half-under Martin and that's right where he belongs. He's thinking about getting a head start and sticking his legs under the colder body when that body turns his head and speaks.

"You never told me what sets you off."

Jon shifts his head to see his face and makes a humming sound. "Didn't I?" He says, knowing full well that he hasn't. A short shake of the head is the only response. So he has to keep talking, it seems. "The nightmares, occasionally. I know you know that, though." He traces his fingers up Martin's arm and continues despite the urge to keep making him shiver like this, "Sometimes I feel that itch. Around other people, mostly, but sometimes even when I hear voices on the television or whatever song is playing. I want to  _ scratch  _ at it and it hurts."

"I've never noticed." Martin says quietly, and Jon is quick to slide his hand up and stroke his thumb across the freckled cheek.

"It's not your fault. I don't-- I  _ try  _ not to make it obvious. You're usually doing something else, or I can just pretend to be asleep." He sighs and cranes his neck to press a kiss to Martin's lips. A contented noise escapes those lips and Jon swears that nothing sounds sweeter than that.

Just as quickly as it comes, it's gone. Martin pulls back and makes a face. "You can't distract me, we're still talking about you."

"I'm rather tired of that topic."

"Jon!" He tries not to laugh, but the light in his eyes betrays his amusement, "You were the one who suggested talking about this." His hand catches Jon's where it rests on his face and he kisses it softly before intertwining their fingers and dropping them to his side. Jon's eyelids flutter and  _ yeah _ , that makes Martin's heart pound.

What they have feels so new still, but they live domestically, without the hesitance of a new relationship. That part faded right after their train ride to Scotland, where Jon passed on on Martin's shoulder and drooled all over his shirt. It was cute, until he woke up and stammered his way through an apology. Martin just laughed and pulled him closer.

After that, they stopped dancing around each other. He still can't comprehend how Jon just slipped into a doting boyfriend so easily. Just thinking about it makes him blush. A blush that is noticed, if the way Jon's eyes roam in the dim light tells him anything.

"Tell me what you're thinking?" He doesn't compel, but his words tug at Martin.

"I love you." He breathes out.

Jon huffs out a laugh and presses impossibly closer. "I love you too."

They should leave it there and get some sleep, but Martin can't help but notice that the conversation didn't  _ really  _ finish. "What can I do to help?" He asks, then squeezes Jon's hand, "I mean, to help with your  _ weird itch _ ." The phrasing pulls a laugh out of his boyfriend and he looks a little more relaxed now than at any point before. 

"As far as being out in public goes, you'll just have to keep watching me, but when we're alone?" Jon tries his best to shrug, but the gesture is weird when one shoulder is buried in the mattress. "Talk to me? Make sure I'm still-- still me?"

"Okay." Martin says with a smile. He lets go of Jon's hand to brush some stray strands of hair out of his face, and repeats the word, "Okay. We'll be okay." He wills his voice not to shake as he whispers.

Jon nods. "We're just putting the pieces back together, right? Rebuilding."

"Right. Putting the pieces back."

Jon wants to know everything about Martin. He knows that he can't know everything, not really, but he learns a lot. When he zones out on the couch, Martin holds him and babbles on about his morning routine in primary school, or the last time he got wasted, or even the first time he knew he had a crush on Jon. Martin tells him willingly, no compulsion required. There is no fear in his voice when he carries on about his neighbor's weird eating habits. All the information he has, he freely gives. 

Jon didn't fall in love with Martin because of all the things he could learn, he fell in love because Martin is so completely, irrefutably  _ human  _ that Jon can't possibly stop himself from loving him. So he holds Martin's hand and talks him down from nightmares and  _ loves him _ , because it's what he deserves, after everything. Jon wants to know everything about Martin, but he'll settle for knowing how much he loves (and how loved he is by) this man.


End file.
